


Perspective Distortion

by voodoochild



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim Keats looks in the mirror, he rarely sees himself as everyone else sees him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspective Distortion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petra, for the prompt "Gene Hunt/Jim Keats, mirrors". Thanks to Em for the title assistance, however inadvertent it might have been.

When Jim Keats looks in the mirror, he rarely sees himself as everyone else sees him.

Sometimes he sees himself as he was, that frightened, far too young copper. Silver insignia on his shoulder, dress blues pressed and pristine, shoes spit-shined perfectly.

Sometimes he sees himself as he could be: a middle-aged, hard-nosed, armed bastard. Hair lightened to almost gold, a few inches shorter, a few stone heavier.

Sometimes he doesn't see himself at all.

Those times he does catch a glimpse of the man he's manifested as, he's usually otherwise occupied with his opposite-side counterpart. Shagging Hunt over his own desk. Down on his knees, sucking Hunt off in the middle of the office, when everyone's gone to whatever-passes-for-home.

It's been centuries, at least, for him. Since he's been corporeal enough to enjoy sex. Hunt's gotten all the cunt - and cock - he wants, for what's been a chronological three decades, but in actuality, has been far longer. And sex in purgatory is still sex.

So he punishes Hunt - for a myriad of slights, real and imagined. For fucking whomever he wants whenever he wants. For changing the bloody rules on Keats's side and not even having any rules on his own. For neglecting his duties badly enough that reality's been warped for it. For Sam Tyler and Alex Drake, good coppers that should have been able to make their choice and go on, not been stuck in someone's construct of the 1970's and 1980's with their heads rearranged by Gene Hunt.

And when Hunt's mouth or arse is slick and tight around Jim's cock, when the bastard knows his place and accepts it, even for just a moment? That's when Keats sees most clearly. They're photo negatives, all of Hunt's light becoming Keats's dark. All of Hunt's red bleeding into Keats's blue. And if you look at them from just the right light and the right angle, they're not so different.

Not so different at all.


End file.
